


The Duel

by JoAsakura



Series: Blood and Fire [5]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 15:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2353742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric lies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Duel

Across the table in the charred wreckage of Hawke’s home, Cassandra’s eyes burn as she paces, listening to the tale of he Qunari Invasion. It’s no lie that Hawke - outclassed, outpowered and desperate to bring the siege to an end and save Isabela - duelled the Arishok in single combat.

The Arishok had, personally, not wanted the battle any more than Hawke had. The massive Qunari had a fondness for Kirwall’s most infamous rogue in a way no one could have expected. Varric cautiously sidesteps the way the Arishok’s face had shuttered, the way he had pleaded, yet not-pleaded in the only way he knew how, for Hawke to turn Isabela over to them.

Cassandra wouldn’t have believed a qunari capable of such a plea. And it had hardly mattered.

~~

"I would that things were different." The Arishok had rumbled softly as he and Hawke circled each other. "I would trade the thief for you. Give you a place amongs the Qun."

"You have your duty, my friend." Hawke’s eyes had always borne a sadness to them. The weight of it now threatened to drown them both. "Isabela is my family, she’s a liar and cheat and inherently disreputable…" He said with a smile that never reached the blue.

"I can hear you just fine." Isabela said before Aveline elbowed her.

"…but she’s part of my clan. She’s a part of my duty." Hawke paused. So many eyes on them. Nobles soiling themselves in their silks, the smell of it reeking over the blood of the qunari soldiers he’d slaughtered on their fight to the palace. "I would ask one boon of you, if the Qun allows it." Behind him, Fenris tensed. Over the last few hours, he’d given Hawke a crash course in everything he’d learned about the Qun that Hawke himself hadn’t picked up on over the years.

The Arishok stilled as well, watching Hawke’s gaze travel over their audience. “I agree.” He said to the unasked question. “This is not sport for the debased and the decadent to wager over.”

"Aveline will go with them." Hawke lifted his chin, trying to meet the Arishok in the eye. "She and Sebastian will be my eyes."

"Agreed." The qunari shifted the massive blades on his shoulders.

"Hawke, I will not…" the Guard Captain started, then fell silent. "I will make sure they abide by the rules." She shot a look at the crowd and the qunari guards. "All of you come with me."

The things that Varric does not lie about in the fight are many. Hawke is half the Arishok’s size. Weaker. But fast and clever and the dwarf knows Hawke fights dirty and never lets himself be in the same place, the same way twice.

~~

The Seeker’s face actually falls when Varric’s voice tenses, recounting what they all thought was the end. The fear in his words are not false, and he can still remember the taste of it in his throat, as he grabbed Fenris as hard as he could to keep the elf from charging in.

~~

Hawke was fast, and clever but the qunari’s stamina was prodigious. Sweat curled the rogue’s dirty-autumn red bangs against his flushed face, made the weight of his light armour almost unbearable.

Scratches peppered the Arishok’s skin, blood running through the paint, reds mingling, ignored as they seeped into his clothes. Hawke’s chest burned, and he pulled what strength he could from the blood. But it wasn’t enough.

And then he mis-stepped. A feint to the left instead of the right and within moments the air was forced out of his lungs as a blade big as his leg pierced the leather tunic. It tore through skin and muscle, it shredded through his intestines and carried bits of them along with his lung through the back. He hung, impaled like that, not even feeling as he slid down towards the Arishok’s crosspiece.

"I am sorry… my friend." The Arishok said softly.

"I am too." Hawke mouthed through the gobbets of blood that spilled down his chin.

There was no spell for blood magic that Merrill had ever learned for what happened next. No concept that might have been pulled from Quentin’s mind. No demon or fade spirit could even enter the room, although later Anders would say he could hear them howling in the corridors, scrabbling for a taste of the sacrifice.

There was only the blood dragon.

Hawke couldn’t feel his own fingertips on the Arishok’s face, but he could feel every red claw and fang that tore the qunari’s head from his shoulders, painted the walls in the spray from where his throat had been, where his arms had held Hawke pinned on his blade.

Everywhere the dragon touched was blood and fire and as the Arishok’s arm fell to the blood-soaked carpet, still clutching the sword, all Hawke felt was cold.

"We have to pull the sword out, Waffles." Varric tried to joke as the rest of them gathered around. "Can you do some blood… stuff to fix yourself up?"

"Varric!" Anders hissed. "If we pull this out, it’s going to make things even worse.."

"DO IT." Hawke tried to shout, air wheezing from his chest, the dragon long gone and the blood running back to him in swift streams. "Let. Let Let them see me stand." He clutched Ander’s hand in one, and Fenris’ in the other as, sobbing, Isabela braced herself with Varric to pull. "Get me up.. get me upright to walk out of here. Do not let them see me weak." Those last words were broken, pleading whispers.

"We won’t." Fenris whispered.

"I promise." Anders agreed.

Varric does not tell the seeker that the scream the nobles all thought was the Arishok dying was Hawke’s as they pulled the huge blade from his broken body and Anders tried to force organs and bones back into the shapes they’d been wrenched from.

When Aveline brought the nobles out, and they saw Hawke standing bloody and tall, all they saw was the Champion. They couldn’t see how he clung to his bow like a life support and how Anders’ hand was on him, blue sparks of power trying to hold him together long enough to get to the safety and peace of the manor.

And Varric sits back, letting Cassandra ponder the “lucky blow” that allowed Hawke to end the fight so quickly. Lets her ponder, for as long as he’s able, how “romantic” it all was.


End file.
